The In-Between
by fablock
Summary: A snarky, independent girl as one of the main characters. I literally have no idea okay there are a thousand references to things in here so good luck. Also I'm laughing at myself because I chose "supernatural" as one of the genres of this story and if that doesn't tell you a lot about my character than I'm not sure what will.


Christine started and opened her eyes, blinking rapidly. She sat up and twisted around, only to promptly fall to the floor from her perch on the couch. She winced and rubbed her elbow which she managed to slam on the wooden coffee table on her descent. She shook herself, blinking the sleep away before glancing at the offending object that awoken her not so peaceful slumber.

The television was rolling the end credits of her favorite episode of Sherlock- Riechenbach Fall. Christine felt the stickiness on her cheek and came to the conclusion that she had spent most of the episode crying. It was not unusual for her to drown her sorrows in something more sorrowful. Sometimes she watched Doomsday from Doctor Who, but this elicited tears just as easily. Apparently, the theme was what had woken her up. She ran a hand over her face and rubbed her blue-gray eyes, trying to determine the time. Christine finally stood from the hardwood floor to peek into the kitchen at the digital clock on the stove.

It read 3:14 in the morning. _Fantastic_. She thought sarcastically. _Another Friday night wasted._

"Hey, it's pi time!" The eighteen year old announced to her vacant apartment. Christine hummed the Sherlock theme beneath her breath as she walked slowly to the kitchen. She threw a hand up as the light blinded her momentarily. Once she was able to gain back her vision, she straightened her pajama shorts and old volleyball shirt that was from so long ago that it showed a strip of her stomach at all times, even more evident when she reached up for something.

The girl threw open the fridge door, brunette curls bouncing wildly, and attempted to try and make a health-conscious choice on a three AM snack-to no avail, of course. She sighed, and replaced the celery she had taken with a brownie she had baked yesterday. She made her way to her pantry, and opened the door which squeaked in protest. Christine stood on the tips of her dancer's feet, stretching up to her not-very-impressive height of five foot four. She gave a little hop and her delicate fingers closed around the jar of peanut butter she had bought the last time she had gone to the grocery store.

"Gosh, Christine, get a life." She said to herself as she smeared the crunchy peanut butter between to halves of the brownie before sandwiching them back together again. She took a bite and grabbed the jug of milk from its current home in the refrigerator, emptying its contents into her purple cup, sloshing a few drops over the edge. She walked to her bedroom, turning the television off. Christine stretched above her head after placing her food on the dresser across from her bed, whose comforter looked like she was thirteen, what with the green and pink stripes sliding across it.

She hopped into the bed, grabbed her Maximum Ride book, and happily munched on her peanut butter brownie, taking a sip of the milk to wash down the rich chocolate and peanut butter combination.

Christine was asleep before she even finished one of Max's sarcastic comments.

"Are you sure about this, man?" Dean asked, eyebrow quirked disbelievingly. "Vampires? The poor bastard had his throat slit, sure, but come on, Sammy. Murders happen on a daily basis."

Sam ran a hand through his hair, eyeing Dean with a practiced look. "Do I look like I'm joking?" He asked.

"Yeah, with that idiot smile on your face."

Sam clocked his brother in the arm, causing the Impala to swerve. Good thing they were the only ones on the road.

"Since when is it 'just a murder' with us, Dean?"

"Every single damned death isn't our kind of problem." Dean countered, raising his voice slightly. He shot Sam a condescending glance. They were disrupted as a sleepy noise came from the backseat. They both jumped slightly before Sam glanced behind him, only to find a sleeping Castiel.

"Why does he do that?" Sam asked, mostly to himself. "He can just poof anywhere, and he decides to take a nap while we're roaming through Alabama trying to find a decent case."

"Man, lay off. He dragged my ass back from Hell." Dean said, rolling his green eyes but lowering his tone a bit so as not to wake the angel in the backseat. There was a few moments of silence filled only by the purring of the engine until Sam spoke up.

"There's something different about this, Dean. And you're right." He added. "I don't think these are vampires."

"Then what the hell are they?"

"I don't know. Some kind of blood-sucking demons or something?" Sam guessed. "Whatever they are, I feel like there's something wrong. I mean, it doesn't fit. Bolted shut from the inside, no signs of struggle, the usual stuff that baffles police. This guy, happy, has a girlfriend, star of the football team mess kills himself? Slits his own throat? Who does that?" He asked in frustration.

"People are sometimes different from whom they appear to be."

The sleepy, gravelly voice belonged to a certain blue-eyed celestial being. Dean looked in the rearview mirror and smiled slightly at the sight. Castiel's hair was ruffled, his usually clear eyes cloudy from sleep. "Yeah. Thanks, Cas."

"I'm telling you, it's something. Also, there's one other thing." Sam said, wanting to get a reaction from his elder brother. Getting nothing but an eyebrow raise, he sighed and continued. "You know how people never have any time to leave notes before they're killed or possessed?" He continued without waiting for an answer. "Well, this one did."

"What's it say?" Dean asked indifferently.

"It…doesn't say."

"How do you know it wasn't just the murderer or so-called spirit?" Dean questioned sarcastically.

"The guy's name was Matthew Tennant. It was him who scratched it. Used his nails. That's all it says in the article, though." Sam paused, watching the boring trees that painted the sides of the newly paved road. "It's just…killing me. I have to know what he wrote." He ran a hand through his long hair, watching the sun rise slowly. The clear sky was a robin's egg blue, and hardly more than a few clouds skittered across the vast expanse. The clock on the dashboard revealed that it was a few minutes after six in the morning, and they were both starving.

"Sweet home, Alabama." Dean sung loudly, very off-key. He tapped a beat on the steering wheel as he bobbed his head to unheard music. "Where the skies are so blue." He took his left hand off of the wheel and mimed a microphone. "Sweet home, Alabama." He pointed to his brother. "Lord, I'm coming home to you." Dean started to hum the guitar solo.

"Really?" Sam asked incredulously at his elder sibling's behavior.

Dean ceased in his humming long enough to answer. "Yeah, really. We're in Alabama, Sammy. The Heart of Dixie! Home of southern accents and sweet tea!"

"You know, most people that live here aren't rednecks."

"You're killing my dream, Sam." Dean stated over-dramatically. Sam rolled his eyes and shot a glance at him.

"What's put you in such a good mood?"

"Sweet tea." He supplied. He couldn't stop a grin from stretching across his features. There was another pause in conversation until Dean spoke up, shooting Sam a sly look. "Tell you what." He said, reclining his chair easily. "We'll go after the case. Check it out, you know."

Sam could practically sense the 'but' that was coming.

"Under one condition."

Yep. There it was.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You gotta cut that mane of yours, dear brother of mine." Dean announced, a smug smile on his face. His younger brother's eyes widened slightly, and a hand reached up protectively to his hair. A frown manifested on his face, and he looked at Dean with what one could only describe as puppy eyes. "Hey, you want this case or not? I'm not talking about shavin' it or anything. Just at trim to keep it from reaching your freaking shoulders."

Sam finally sighed and crossed his arms in defeat. "Fine. You know what? Fine. If cutting my hair means that we'll save people's lives, that's fine with me." He stared defiantly out in the distance, eyes focused on a lone water tower.

"Well, if we're gonna go after this thing, I'll need data. Where is this again?"

Sam glowered at his brother, still angry over the fact that he would lose his prized possession. "Birmingham." He said curtly.

"The Magic City, huh?" Dean said. "There's your first mistake. If it was a spirit, they would want to keep it in a rural area, not draw attention to itself."

"I'm telling you, there's something-" Sam was cut off as a sharp pain came shooting through his head. Oh, not again. "Ah!" He hissed, a hand pressed to his temple. Distorted images flashed across his mind. He blinked hard to try and rid himself of them, to no avail. Some sort of code appeared twice, and the rest was just jumbled.

"Sammy, you alright?" Dean asked, a smidge of concern putting an edge to his voice.

"Aside from," he sucked a breath through his teeth as he shut his eyes against the burning sensation, "being pelted by weird codes, I'm dandy." He locked his jaw as another flash of pain ripped through him.

Suddenly, the images stopped. The last one was of a pretty girl, hunched in the corner of a staircase, sobbing into a pillow. Then, that one was gone too. "You okay now?" Dean asked, glancing at Sam.

"Yeah. But…that one was different."

"Different how?"

"Like…the images weren't put together correctly, like bad reception or something. It wasn't a full-fledged vision, Dean. Not like the others."

Dean bit the inside of his cheek, turning onto a road that sported a sign that promised a hotel and an Arby's was fifteen miles away. "You think it actually gave some warning this time?"

"I don't know." Sam admitted. "But I can't shake this feeling."

"What 'feeling'? You keep talking about this 'feeling'." Dean took his hands off the steering wheel to make air quotations with his fingers.

"Like…" Sam paused, frustrated by how to formulate the words. "There's a connection with that murder."

Dean ruffled his hair. "Well, look. We're ten miles outside of Birmingham. Get an address, and we'll scope the place out. And we'll get you that hair cut." He added.

Forceful knocking on her apartment building was what awoke Christine this time. She groaned and snuggled a little deeper into her blanket. Her pillow was warm and smelled like her favorite perfume. All was right in the world.

Except for that horrid pounding on her door again. She opened her eyes and pushed the covers back, yawning widely. She swallowed thickly a few times before getting up to answer the door. The sun shining from her window indicated that it was around noon. Full nine hours of sleep, doesn't get any better than that. Christine adjusted her shorts (which were rather short-but then again, she hadn't planned for company) and smoothed her unruly hair back a bit before unlatching the lock and pulling the door open.

"What do you-" She stopped as she opened the door fully. Standing before her were possibly the two hottest guys she had ever seen. Her eyebrows rose and she stifled back another yawn. "Um…hi." Was her incredibly articulate choice of words. "Don't take this the wrong way, but who the hell are you?" She asked, suddenly away of her state of dress. She hastily attempted to pull down her shorts so they weren't quite so…well, short, but she only succeeded in making them ride up in the back.

"I'm Sam, and this is-" The cute boy with the longish hair started, but was cut off by the other one, who was not-so-secretly checking her out.

"I'm his brother, Dean." He said with a half smirk.

"We just need to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind." The boy-Sam-said politely, but with a serious air, while Dean seemed more of the kind of guy who'd put fire ants in your bed to freak you out.

"Uh…sure, but what exactly is this about?" Christine questioned, hands on her hips, surveying the way the brothers exchanged a glance.

"Look, we'll explain in a sec." Dean said, flashing her a quick smile. As much as she wanted to give in, she refused to let her shallow side win.

"I swear, if you try anything…I have a boyfriend, you know." She said as she turned around inviting the pair in to her apartment, missing the confused look on their faces.

Sam and Dean followed the girl into her apartment. Sam looked around the space, noting the slightly messy stacks of books and coffee mugs, along with a pen and an unfinished paper laying on her oak desk.

Dean watched the girl, eyeing her figure appreciatively, as he mimicked her steps into the apartment. She led them to a couch and she took a seat in a chair opposite them. She curled her legs beneath her and wiggled around in the chair, trying to get comfortable.

"I'm Christine, if you wanted to know." She said, twirling a curl around her finger. Long eyelashes framed her stormy eyes, which now told that she was wary and cautious of the two strange guys in her living room.

"Yeah, we know." Sam said. He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward. "We just have a few questions concerning your boyfriend's death."

Christine looked at Sam, and did one thing he certainly did not expect her to do-she burst out laughing. "Very funny. Are you friends of Alex or something? He's always trying to get me to break up with Matthew. So what, just because I haven't seen him in a couple days means that he can just send a coupled of his friends over to convince me to date him?"

Sam and Dean stared at her with wide eyes until realization dawned on them. "You really don't know…" Sam said.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your boyfriend's Matthew Tennant, right?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"Uh, yeah." Christine confirmed.

His eyes softened slightly. "And you haven't seen him in a few days?"

"No…" She looked at them suspiciously. The two guys shifted uncomfortably.

"Matthew…is dead. I'm sorry, Christine. They told me that they had already called his girlfriend." Sam looked at her sympathetically, and even Dean's eyes lost their hard edge.

She just looked at them in shock. She didn't want to believe, she wanted to believe it was a trick, but something in their eyes was honest. They were telling the truth. Matt was dead. Christine took a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Matt, her boyfriend of two years. Matt, the one who would reluctantly sit through Doctor Who marathons so she could show him the actor he shared his surname with. Matt, the one who was obsessed with twirling her hair in his fingers. Matt, who would never speak to her again. She felt unshed tears well up behind her ever-changing eyes, but blinked them back.

"He really is, isn't he?" Christine asked, knowing the answer. She sighed and forced herself not to cry.

"It's alright to cry, we're just here to help." Sam said gently, like he could read her mind. His brother rolled his eyes at his sentimental ways.

"No. I'm fine." She looked at his skeptical expression and managed a weak chuckle. "Alright, not fine. But…I won't cry. Not now." She then wondered why she was saying this to complete strangers. She drew in another shaky breath and started asking questions. "You said they already called me…but I never got a call." Christine said with a furrowed brow. Suddenly, realization dawned and her eyes went wide before narrowing. "Oh my god. He was cheating on me." She stated in awe. "That…that…"

"Son of a bitch?" Dean supplied. Christine nodded.

"Yeah." She ran a hand absentmindedly through her curls, trying to sort out her thoughts. "So…you said you could help me...what, exactly, did you mean by that?" She watched as the brothers exchanged al look before Sam sighed.

"Look. I'll tell you the truth, okay?"

"Well, duh. Kind of what I was expecting."

"Matthew had his throat slit, Christine. Doors bolted shut from the inside. They ruled it suicide, but no one kills themselves like that. It was murder for sure. We're just here to find out what murdered him."

Christine looked at him strangely. "You said 'what' not 'who'." She said slowly, like she was trying to work something out. "You think…" she swallowed, unable to look at them for fear that she was crazy. "You think…a thing did something to him? Like a…like a…monster, or creature of some sort?" She finished softly.

"I like this one!" Dean said with a smug smile and an approving nod. "She's smart. Like you, Sammy."

"Yeah, that's what we do." Sam started reaching into his pocket, presumably for some sort of badge, but Christine stopped him.

'Don't you even think about pulling fake badges on me. There's no need for it, anyway. I trust you guys. Let me know if that's a stupid thing to do."

Sam looked at her in astonishment. "How did you know-?"

She waved her hand dismissively, and put on her best imitation of Benedict Cumberbatch. "Hardly a brilliant deduction." Christine half smiled to herself. Then she noticed that the pair was staring at her. "Um…sorry. Just…ignore that." She flushed a bright red.

Dean quirked an eyebrow while Sam leaned forward, wheels turning. "No, I mean explain. Exactly how you knew that." He was staring at her intensely.

"I…I don't know. I just can."

"Can you do anything else?"

She nodded at studied him for a minute before speaking. "You're homeless, for a start. Probably get around using cheap motel rooms and sometimes spending a night in your car when you don't feel like credit card fraud. You're mistaking for being gay instead of brothers, but who can blame them." Dean shot her a look of indignation. "Kidding, kidding. Um…you've been on the road a long time. There's a bit of carpet fuzz from the car floor stuck to your shoe." She pointed at Sam's right shoe. "Dean was reluctant to come here for some reason…though he came anyway. Most likely some sort of bet or bribe was involved. In fact, there was. Sam here has to get rid of his locks." Christine stopped, looking triumphantly at the brothers who looked astounded.

"How…could you possibly know about the bet?" Sam asked.

She shrugged and pointed at Dean's back pocket where a piece of paper was sticking out. "There's the receipt for the haircut. Plus, Sam looks a bit agitated, probably from his reluctance to cut his hair."

"This is some creepy-ass voodoo right here." Dean muttered, but Sam shook his head.

"No, I think she's just smart. Really, incredibly smart." He said, half-smiling.

"Okay, dreamy boy, we're off topic here. We're trying to get information from her about Matthew's life so we can track down the thing that killed him."

"So…this is what you do?" Christine asked, untucking her legs from under her. "Go around, maneuvering into people's business with your boyish charms?" She muttered the last bit to herself.

"Ah…we'll go with that." Dean said, shooting her with double finger guns.

Suddenly, Christine looked worried. "Shouldn't I be more messed up about this, though? Sobbing, screaming that you're crazy and stuff?"

"Probably." Dean agreed with a shrug. "Got any rock salt, by the way?"

"Why would you need…? Oh. _Oh._ You hunt…demons." She said questioningly, paling slightly.

"Among other things. Spirits, vampires, basically anything living in your closet or under your bed." He stated like it was common knowledge, earning a glare from Sam.

"Dude. You're going to freak her out."

Christine coughed. "Right here, you guys."

They turned their gazes back to her. Sam's held her eyes while Dean's…well, went other places. _Note to self: Don't wear tank tops to bed anymore. Random hot guys will stare at you appreciatively. _

"So. You said you needed my help." She sat up straighter and crossed her arms over her chest.

"If you want to find out what killed your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend anymore." She said cuttingly, glaring at the fireplace like she could make it burst into flames. Christine sighed and shook herself. "So you want me to come with you."

"Yep."

"That would be preferable." Sam added after Dean.

"Great. That cheating bastard was murdered by some vengeful spirit or something, and I'm going to search for so-called spirit with two brothers whom I've never seen before yet know my address." She looked at them before grinning. "I'm in."

A change of clothes later, Christine was walking down the steps of the apartment building with Sam and Dean. Now covered in jean shorts and a simple t-shirt, she felt more comfortable with them. Which wasn't saying much.

As soon as she spotted the Impala, she knew it was Dean's, no mistaking it. They walked to the car and Christine hesitated before climbing into the backseat. She was probably breaking every rule her mother had ever instilled in her, but she was an adult now. Well, legally, that is.

The doors slammed shut and the brothers took their assumed spots, door slamming in unison. The car roared to life and Dean adjusted the rearview mirror and caught her eye. "So where'd he live?" He asked as he backed out of the parking space.

"He lives-lived," she corrected herself painfully, "in a house on Sunset Lane. His address is 666 Sunset Circle."

"That's just asking to be possessed." Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. "What idiot buys that house?"

Christine shrugged. "I don't know. It's been in his family for years."

Sam turned his head so that he was facing her. "Wait…wasn't he like twenty-one? How old are you?"

She blushed and cast her eyes downward. "Eighteen." She murmured. She knew it was young. Three years was a substantial gap. When she dragged her eyes back up to meet his, she was surprised to see both of them staring at her.

"Eighteen." Dean parroted, shaking his head. "Fantastic. I've been ogling a teenager."

She quirked an eyebrow at that but said nothing. Sam was still staring at her. "What?" She snapped. Christine had always been protective of her age gap with Matt. Many people had disapproved, but she hadn't cared. He loved her. Or at least, she thought he did.

"Nothing. It's…nothing." He said, shaking his head at himself. "Ah…so is that the house?" He asked, pointing to the familiar, creepy-looking home.

"Yep." She answered, popping the 'p'.

"Home sweet home." Dean said sarcastically as he maneuvered the car into the driveway. Police tape covered the home, yet the cops were nowhere to be found. Christine marched right up to the front door, not checking if the guys were following her. Incidentally, they were.

She ducked underneath the yellow tape and pushed the door open fast so it wouldn't creak so loud. She walked steadily into the house, willing her lip to stop quivering and being a baby. She almost lost it when she saw the picture frame of them together. The glass was shattered, but the photograph was still intact. They had been at Disneyworld, and Christine had forced Matt to take a picture with her and Goofy. So, there he was, unhappily shoved between giant dog and girlfriend.

Suddenly, she threw it to the ground with such force that even Dean and Sam jumped a little bit.

"Look, we're sorry about him-" Dean started, shining his flashlight over the floor before he was interrupted by Christine.

"Sorry? I couldn't care less that he's dead. After cheating on me with that wank, the bastard should be dead." She angrily brushed tears away. No way was she going to appear weak in front of these hunter guys or whatever the hell they were. No, she was showing them strong, independent Christine.

Or, at least, that would've been the plan. "I didn't mean that." She said in a whisper. She bent down and removed the picture from its tattered frame, tucking it into her jean shorts' pocket. "Whatever. Let's just get on with whatever you guys do."

They searched every inch of the place, with no luck until a call from Dean alerted them. "Sammy, get down here. There's something you outta see."

Christine heard the call as well, and looked up from reading all the secret emails between Matt and some girl named Leyla. Idiotic name. And get this-he had the gall to tell Leyla that Christine was his cousin! His COUSIN!

She and Sam arrived at the same time, looking at Dean expectantly. "So, you said he scratched something into the floor? Well, looks like I found it." Christine let her eyes follow the trail of dried blood up to the wooden floor. There, crudely carved into the surface, were the letters _C H R I_ and _S. _"Was he…trying to spell my name?"

"Either that, or he was attempting to summon an angel or something." He chuckled dryly at his own joke, when Christine glared at him. "You see, because of the way it almost spells Christ and…never mind."

"But…why wait until he was dying to write my name? What would that have gained? He was dying. It took effort. It would have killed." She inwardly winced at her own choice of wording. She stole a glance at Sam and he nodded approvingly.

"Dean? Who's that girl?"

A voice that did not have Dean's gruff undertones or Sam's quiet but commanding way of speaking scared Christine out of her wits. She jumped and whirled around to come face to face with the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Literally, face to face. Like, if she so much as breathed, their noses would be touching.

She jerked back and stared the strange man in a trenchcoat with wide eyes. Dean reached for the man's shoulder and pulled him back a bit. "Cas, personal space, remember?" He said. The man-Cas-nodded and looked into her eyes. It felt as if he was scrutinizing her soul.

"Um…Sam?" She asked hesitantly, her glance darting to the guy in question. "Were you planning to tell me that anytime soon that you have a friend who can poof anytime that he wants?"

"Getting to that." She shot him a look. "Okay, maybe never. So…Christine, meet Castiel, or Cas as dubbed by Dean." Dean looked up at the mention of his name and shot her a quick smile. "And Castiel, meet-"

"Christine Anna Kathryn Daae." Castiel said without tearing his gaze from her.

"How…how did you know my middle names? No one knows them, except my parents, and my mom's dead and my dad left me alone as soon as it was legal." Christine said, gaze flicking nervously between the three people that stood before her when a thought crossed her mind. "I knew it. I should never have gone with you. Just some crazy stalker pyscho's who want to murder me or something." Her eyes went wide and she started backing away.

"No…Christine, we're not stalkers." Sam said, spreading his hands out in an open gesture. "We just need your help."

She suddenly dropped sharply to the ground on her knees, a shaking hand held against her forehead. It felt like…he was inside her mind. Like, controlling her with his thoughts. She gasped and let out a squeak of pain, eyes shut tight.

"Sammy, what are you doing to her?" She heard Dean ask.

"I don't know, Dean. I swear I don't know."

"For God's sake, you idiot, let her go!" His voice took on a tone of worry. Sam's became downright frantic.

"Dude, you think I'm trying to pull some Jedi mind trick?"

And then, as soon as it started, it ceased. Christine let out a relieved breath and crumpled to the floor, shaking violently. She felt a hand on her shoulder, but she fought the urge to shrug it away and instead leaned into the touch. She felt sturdy muscles against her back, and two strong arms lifted her from the floor. She felt drained, like something had taken her energy. She couldn't tell who was holding her. The voice seemed distant, like she was underwater or something.

Everything went dark.

"Sammy, you might want to get away from the couch. What happens when she wakes up in a strange hotel with three guys who she barely even knows? Especially when one has the hots for her?"

Sam looked up at his brother and a confused look passed over his features. "I thought you said she was too young for you?"

Dean rolled his eyes and clicked the remote to change the channel. "I'm talkin' about you, idiot."

He scoffed at his brother. "Are you serious right now? I've known her for a grand total of twenty-four hours. That's hardly enough to base anything off of." Sam said matter-of-factedly.

"Explain me a thing, then. Why have you been sitting in that seat for the past two hours stealing glances at a really hot chick like she's dead or something?"

"Well, I was the one who knocked her out cold." He pointed out tonelessly.

"Alright then, Don Juan. Whatever you say." Dean started to smirk and walk to the kitchenette when Sam stopped him.

"Wait a second. 'Don Juan'? Dean, have you been watching Les Miserables?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Maybe." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "That's not the point." He frowned and popped a donut in his mouth. Like, a whole donut. "Mffmff." He tried to say around the donut.

Sam ruffled his hair and typed something into his computer, squinting intently at the screen. He'd spent an hour researching, attempting to find anything about how he could have wiped Christine out. He hadn't done anything…at least, he couldn't think of anything. Well, he was trying to convince her that they were trying to help, but what could have…

"Oh my god."

Dean poked his head out and swallowed the last of the pastry. "You got something?"

Sam looked up at him with wide eyes. "I think…I think I just discovered a new psychic power."

"What, you can grow petunias whenever you feel like it?" He stopped and turned serious as he saw the fear in his eyes.

"No. I think I can persuade people to do things. You know, get inside their mind. Remember that dude we dealt with a while back? The one who made you give him your car?"

He looked at him, somewhat confused. "Yeah, but all you did was knock her out. You didn't persuade her to do anything."

"No, but…" he hesitated, thinking through the facts. "It was weird. I felt like I was literally inside her mind. I could see some of her memories, and her thoughts."

"Like a mindreader?"

"Not exactly. Just really vague stuff. I think we have some sort of…connection, or something. I'll test it when she wakes up."

A voice startled them both. "Who's testing what?" Their heads turned toward the couch where the sleepy voice came from. Christine struggled to sit up, and Sam helped pull her up. "Not utterly invalid, thanks." She muttered. It took her a second, but the past day came back to her. Boyfriend murdered, two attractive- wait, make that three-guys who hunted things that aren't supposed to exist, and-stalkers. They were creepers. She was instantly on guard and she shot up, eyes frantic and searching. "You…you put me to sleep." She accused Sam.

"I know, I'm sorry." He said with a sheepish grin that disappeared as he was met with a cold glare. "I don't know what happened. I was just telling you that we weren't stalkers."

"Which we're not!" Dean supplied, arms crossed.

"Then how did that other guy know my full name?" She asked.

"Well…if we told you, you'd run screaming in the other direction."

"Something I would like to do already." She pointed out. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, point taken. So you wanna know or not?"

She sighed. "Whatever. I give you a minute to explain that and to prove that you're not insane lunatics." Christine brushed her hair over her shoulder and sat up on the couch. "Actually, one moment. Where am I?"

"Hotel room. We're in Tuscaloosa." Dean said, picking at one of his nails.

"Fantastic. How long have I been out?"

"A day." Sam said, watching her guarded expression turn to one of relief.

"Alright. Now, minute, go." Se said, gesturing with her arms.

The brothers sighed collectively. Sam was the first to speak. "First of all, we are not stalkers. As aforementioned, we go around hunting all the supernatural evil that isn't supposed to exist. Your boyfriend was killed by something supernatural. You don't see that type of stuff in suicides."

"How'd you have my address?"

"Found one of your friends, Meg Giry. She was so distraught and worried about you she gave to us without a second glance. We wanted to talk to you so we could get some information on this."

"Thirty seconds." She stated in a sing-song voice.

"The third guy is Castiel." Dean hesitated slightly. "He's an angel."

Christine stifled a laugh. "Huh. Didn't think you were gay, but whatever." He shot her a glare and huffed angrily.

"No. He's literally an angel. Like, as in, wings." He elaborated. He enjoyed watching her expression turn awed.

"That is freaking cool. So he can fly?"

"He can do more than fly." Dean said. "So, are you gonna help us or not?" He stared at her indifferently. Christine bit her lip and looked from Sam to Dean and back again before sighing.

"Whatever." She threw the blanket off and walked to the balcony, shaking her head. She laughed a little bit and said, "I can't believe this. I'm going off with a couple of modern day ghostbusters and an angel trying to find mythical creatures and spirits." She turned back around to face them and surprised them immensely when a large grin broke over her features. "This is gonna be fun." Christine skipped to the kitchen and spotted the box of donuts. She eyed them before grabbing a chocolate with sprinkles and biting off a sizable piece. "You're just lucky I trust easily." Except with the food in her mouth ti sounded more like, "You're juft lufckey I trufht easily."

"I like this one." Dean said, throw a thumb in her direction. Then, lowering his voice, he said, "I can't believe she's so accepting of all this. You don't think-"

"No." Sam immediately said. "No, I think she's naturally like this. Probably one of those loyal quickly types."

'I'm just warning you, Sammy. When your girlfriend goes all psycho and tries to kill us, don't come running to me." He grabbed his coat and walked out of the hotel room, missing Sam's hissed, "She's not my girlfriend."

Christine finished her donut and walked to the table where Sam was sitting with his laptop. She leaned over his shoulder to see what he was looking at.

On the screen was a Wikipedia article, and she stifled a laugh. "Really? You're using Wikipedia?"

"It's helpful." Sam defended with a small smile. "You hungry?"

"Starving."

A few minutes later, BLT in hand, Christine started to question Sam.

"Okay, so. If I'm going to be the fourth musketeer to your crew, what info do I need? Like any useful tips on fighting demons?" she asked, only half kidding. Christine sat down in the chair across from him, munching on her sandwich.

"Well," he paused, reaching into his pocket, "you're going to need this." He tossed a pistol at her and she caught it deftly, although surprised. She ejected the cartridge and looked at him curiously.

"Is this rock salt?"

Sam looked at her, arching an eyebrow, mildly impressed. "Yeah. It repels spirits."

There was a few moments of silence save for the steady tapping of his fingers on the keyboard and the crunching of her mouth.

"So…this is what you do? Go around, saving people's lives? What do you call yourself?"

"Hunters." He said, clicking on a link.

"Huh." Christine rested her elbows on the table. "So how much stuff is really true?"

Sam took a break from his typing and stretched upwards. "What do you mean?"

"Like the whole 'vampires are afraid of sunlight' and crap."

"It would take a long time to inform you of everything. But, to start, vampires actually don't hiss at sunlight. They prefer night, but sunlight won't hurt them."

She leaned back in her chair, fishing her phone out of her pocket.

"Don't you need to call your parents or something?" Sam asked, eyeing the phone.

"No." She said, eyes downcast. She fiddled with the silver band around her finger, the small purple stone seemingly glowing. "Mom's dead, Dad probably is too. Left me a year ago." She said, careful not to put any emotion into her voice.

"I'm sorry. I know how that feels." Sam said, looking at her sympathetically. "My mom died when I was a baby. House fire."

Christine looked up immediately. "House fire?" He nodded. "Funny thing, that. My mom did too. I was a baby. My dad said I was only six months old." Sam's gaze snapped to hers, green eyes colliding with bright blue-gray.

"Were you in your crib when it happened?" He demanded, suddenly incredibly interested in the girl.

"Uh, yeah. How did you know?"

Sam sat back heavily, a ghost of a smile across is face. "That's why I knocked you out. That's why we're connected!" he said excitedly.

"Whoa, whoa. Back up. Connected?"

"Yeah. Tell me, do you ever have visions of any kind? Weird dreams, maybe?"

She stared at him with suspicion. "I thought I was going crazy." She said softly.

"No! No, you're not! See, my mom died in exactly the same way. On my six month birthday, fire, everything. I have visions too, strange dreams that-"

"-come true." Christine finished for him, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Yeah." He said, somewhat breathlessly. His eyes searched hers and found wonder, with a hint of giddiness. A smile broke over her face and she giggled slightly.

"I can't believe that." She shook her head at him, leaning forward on her elbows, smile still lingering on her face. "So, are Dean and Cas, like, a thing?" She asked, mirth dancing in her eyes. Sam chuckled and shrugged.

"Dean denies it left and right, but I think they're made for each other. He almost denies it too much, you know?"

Christine nodded and smiled. "Yeah, I think they'd be cute." She sat back in the chair and twirled her hair. "Um…sorry for calling you a stalker and stuff." She apologized weakly. "And I wasn't much help at the house. You know, unless you count passing out as helping."

"That's alright. People…usually react like that. Or worse." He cringed, remembering the time he was almost knocked out with a lamp by one overzealous guy. "It doesn't seem to faze you all that much. I mean, the creature stuff." Sam pointed out.

"I don't have an explanation for you there. It just…isn't impossible for me to believe. I mean, I knew angels existed, but I had no idea they could, like, pop down to earth whenever they wanted."

"Yeah, Cas is an exception." He turned his attention back to the screen, quickly skimming the article before shutting the laptop angrily.

"No luck?"

"Nothing." He said, exasperated. He got up and stalked to the kitchen where he reached into the fridge to pull out a beer. "Want one?" He called over his shoulder.

"In three years, maybe." Christine said with a smirk.

"Oh, yeah. Forgot about that." He said sheepishly.

"So how long does it take to find one of these things?" She questioned, relocating herself to the couch that was surprisingly comfortable for a motel room.

"Depends." Sam said, sitting on the chair opposite the couch.

"On?" Christine prompted.

"Lots of things. Like how powerful it is, uh, how fast it can move, how well it covers its tracks. This one…I'd say two weeks tops."

"So I'll be living with you guys for half a month?"

"Yep."

"Joy." She muttered. Then, since she had a tendency to think before she said things and she made a deal with herself to be completely honest, the next words she spoke were, "Well, at least you guys are hot." She pointed out. That elicited a bark of laughter from Sam.

"That's always a good thing." He pointed out.

Christine tossed him the remote, waiting for him to make a selection, and the ridiculousness of the situation dawned on her. She laughed.

"What?" Sam asked.

"It's just hilarious. I just randomly left home to travel the state with three guys I've never met and I'm already acting like I've known you all my life." She said.

"Yeah, it is weird, isn't it." Sam said with a half smile. He settled on the news and Christine pulled her knees up to her chest when she realized yet another thing.

"Wait a sec."

Sam turned and looked at her expectantly, prompting her with a look.

"I don't have any clothes with me."

An odd look came over his face, like he hadn't considered that. "Well, the good news is that Dean is really good at phishing credit cards."

"Speaking of Dean, where is he?"

"Probably at a bar. That's practically where he lives, that asshat." Christine bit her lip to contain laughter, but to avail. She laughed until tears came to her eyes. "What's so funny?"

"Asshat." She said, barely able to breathe. When she got a hold of herself, she explained further. "I've just never heard that expression used before."

"Oh, we got a lot of those. I call it 'creative profanity'." Sam said as he crossed his legs casually.

The pair turned their attention back to the screen where a frantic looking reporter was spewing out facts.

"And now, to John Holmes with more on this report."

The camera now showed a middle-aged man with serious worry lines and tired eyes. "Thanks, Donna. We actually have a new development in this breaking news story."

As soon as the reporter uttered the words, the TV shut off. Christine looked at Sam, ready to tell him to get off the remote, when she realized that he was as confused as she. A cold chill ghosted across her arms, sending goosebumps up and down her spine. A cold breeze somehow lifted the curls gently off her shoulders. She looked at Sam for an explanation.

"Sam, what-"

She was cut off as the lights started flickering. How typical. Then, all of a sudden, they went out. The only light came from the small window, where the last rays of daylight were flickering out. Sam started getting up slowly and, while she was terrified, Christine followed suit while he fished a flashlight from his pocket. He swiveled it around, and he waited anxiously for something to catch in the beam. But, there was nothing.

And then, just as suddenly, the lights came back on. The reporter started droning again, and Sam and Christine exchanged a look.

"Uh, care to tell me what the hell just happened?"

"Not really sure." Sam replied, looking around in confusion. Christine walked over to the wooden table so she could finish her forgotten sandwich when she saw something. She raised a hand to her mouth in horror.

"Sam?" She squeaked.

"Yeah?"

"You might want to take a look at this."

He walked to her side, not really sure what he was expecting. But it certainly wasn't this.

There, scratched into the table, were the letter T. She traced the letters with her finger, outlining the jagged carving. It was in the exact same script as with Matt. "So Matt didn't actually write it." She managed to say. Sam nodded in agreement, running his hands over the carving. He picked up a bit of the wood dust left and rubbed it between his fingers, where it broke apart before fluttering to the table in an elegant shower. He knelt down to examine it closer when something else caught his eye. A feather, stark black with a hint of purple, was lying on the corner of the table. He picked it up carefully and turned it in the light before giving a somewhat disbelieving chuckle. "I don't believe it."

"What? Why is there a feather?" Christine asked, reaching delicately for the object before feeling its soft material. "Some sort of bird thing?"

"Nope." Sam stood up, still shaking his head in shock. "We're dealing with something different. Something we've never seen before, and we've seen a lot of things."

"Get on with it." She demanded impatiently, watching his eyes dart across the feather, seemingly memorizing its shape and form.

"It's from a faerie." He finally said, disbelieving expression glued on his handsome features.

Christine's eyes flashed a brilliant blue and she stared at him in…awe? Confusion? Both? "A…faerie." She parroted, and he answered with a nod. "But don't they have wings?"

Sam looked at her incredulously. "Hence the feather." He pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. "But aren't their wings supposed to be made up of…I don't know, something not birdlike?"

"Normally. But these aren't your average faeries."

"Of course they aren't." She muttered under her breath. "Then what type are they?" She questioned, raising her voice more so he could hear.

"Evil ones. Really, really evil ones."

"That's why it's black?"

"Not necessarily. There are brown and white and silver ones, too. The only difference from the good and the bad is that they have a slight gloss over them. See, if you hold it to the light, you can see the sheen over it. The good ones don't have that." Sam placed the feather back on the table.

"How much of the faerie fairytale stuff is real? I'm guessing they don't prance around in tutus?"

He laughed and shook his head, turning serious once more. "They look like you and I. Typically, they're exceptionally beautiful, and normally have striking eyes that seem a little too pretty to be human. For example, they might have golden eyes, or perhaps dark blue that are really violet in color, or even a luminescent."

Christine nodded, and asked the obvious question. "Why now? Why scratch it now?"

"I don't know." He paused. "It's almost like a…like a…warning." His eyes widened. "Maybe Matt didn't scratch it. It was an evil being this whole time. Maybe it was warning him he was going to die."

"But why warn him when that would give him time to escape?"

Sam exhaled slowly. "That's what we need to figure out."

At that moment, the door burst open and Dean strolled in casually. He stopped and looked at their faces and smirked. "Glad to see you're fully clothed." Sam shot him a glare and Christine blushed a light pink. "I get the feeling that I missed something big."

A cup of coffee and one explanation later, the group was sitting together in the space. It was a few minutes after ten, and they were trying to research the lore on faeries. Christine and Sam sat on opposite sides of the couch, with Dean in the armchair sipping on a beer instead of her choice of coffee. She ironed her face with her hands and groaned.

"We're getting nowhere."

"Welcome to the club, sister." Dean said with a smirk. He sure seemed to like smirking.

"Must be frustrating." She quipped, not really focusing much on the droning television, and instead fantasizing about becoming a companion to the tenth doctor. She was imagining that they'd bring bananas to every party and travel to Gallifrey in the TARDIS. Yep. That would be awesome. Soon, she was slowly falling asleep to the tapping of the keys and the steady sound of a sitcom. She dozed off without realizing it and she was dead to the world.

Dean laughed at Christine, the way she was falling slowly to her right and, unknowingly, grabbing onto his brother's leg as a pillow. He watched in amusement at Sam's surprised and slightly uncomfortable expression. She shifted in her sleep and adjusted herself so that she had her body adjacent to his. He pretended not to notice and kept on with his pointless scrolling. "Found anything?" Dean asked.

Sam looked relieved. For a moment, he was sure his brother was going to make some sarcastic comment. "Um…yeah. Says here that they live in packs, like wild dogs, and typically have lairs underneath popular places. Like a nightclub, for instance."

"Fantastic. Faeries acting like the freaking Phantom of the Opera."

"Looks like it. And as far as other recent deaths go, there have been four very similar cases like this. They're all exactly six years apart."

"Six seems to be making a common appearance. Wonder why." Dean said sarcastically.

Christine shifted again and this time wrapped her arms around Sam's torso, who was becoming increasingly stiff by the moment. He sat up straight and tried to ignore it. Plus, her hair was tickling him. He grit his teeth and went on clicking. "Let's see…" He squinted in concentration. "They're all guys named Matthew, if that's anything. But other than the names, nothing seems to connect them."

"Maybe they just don't like the name Matthew. I wouldn't either. Too typical. Now, Dean-that, I can roll with." He nodded at himself with a grin.

Suddenly, Christine's eyes opened and she blinked a few times. It took her a second to get her bearings, and it all came back to her. Even though her nap was a brief five minutes, she felt more alert now. Then, she realized something was wrong. If she was at the hotel room with the guys, why were her arms wrapped around something? Something warm and comfortable and-had abs?

"Holy crap." She unlatched herself from Sam who was looking at her with an unreadable expression. "Ah…sorry about using you as a pillow. I tend to move around a lot when I sleep." Was her apology. She scrambled back to her side of the sofa and tried hard not to be embarrassed.

Sam cleared his throat. "Ah, it's fine."

Christine looked at the clock, putting the incident behind her, and she noticed it was probably time for her to go to bed. "I'm just gonna…go to sleep now, if that's alright."

Sam nodded and told her she could have his bed. "I'll sleep on the sofa."

"Sammy, you know what? She'll sleep in mine. I'll take the couch." He shot a particularly wicked grin at Sam, which Christine didn't notice.

"Alright, that's cool with me." She said. She hopped off of her perch and dove underneath the covers, welcoming the warmth it brought her. "Umm…do you happen to have a pair of pajamas I could use?" Then, once her sleepy mind processed what she said, she backtracked. "Oh wait, duh. You're dudes. Don't have any pjs. 'Kay, I'm cool with this."

"Uh, you could take one of my shirts or something." Sam suggested awkwardly.

"Yeah, that could work. I mean, you are six foot five. That'd probably fit."

So, with that, Christine snatched one of his plaid shirts and headed to the bathroom to change. After removing her previous clothes, the soft shirt felt like heaven. It reached about mid-thigh, and normally she would be worried, but she knew these weren't the type of guys that would take advantage of the current situation. She walked out the door and stuffed her dirty clothes in a pile, walking into the living room again. Damn, this was a big hotel room. "Shopping tomorrow." She announced happily, knowing that they guys would be none too pleased. And she was correct, as they both groaned. "Hey, don't worry. I'm not your typical 'mall crazy' girl. Trust me." And with that, she plopped down underneath the duvet again, bringing the covers to her chin.

Maybe it was the absolute weirdness of it all, or maybe because she was still slightly uncomfortable with sharing a hotel room with two guys, she ha trouble falling asleep. An hour or so later, she heard the sounds of Sam walking into the bedroom. She shut her eyes and evened out her breathing, pretending to be asleep. She didn't know why she did, but she had the overwhelming urge to be all spy-like and stuff. Maybe she could get some dirt on him, secrets and stuff.

What surprised her was when she sensed him standing right over her. She slowed her breathing even more, even adding the occasional sleep sigh or whatever to make it convincing. She could practically feel his eyes roaming over her face.

Then, she heard him retreat to his own bed. Christine heard him shuffle the blanket and sigh deeply. It was another few minutes before she finally fell asleep to the sound of cars rushing past on the busy road.

Christine woke up to someone gently shaking her shoulders. She moaned and rolled over, slowly blinking awake. Her eyes focused on the figure that was standing above her and immediately recognized it as Sam. She sat up slowly and stretched her arms over her head, yawning widely. "What time's it?" She slurred, yawning again.

He eyed her in amusement. "Almost noon."

At this, she bolted upright and threw the rumpled covers to the side, being sure to maneuver her legs in a way so everything was covered-more or less. She swung her legs to the side and hastily pulled down the shirt, pushed passed Sam, and bolted into the kitchen, running smack into Dean. She apologized and dived into the fridge, grabbing materials to make a sandwich. She was absolutely starving.

After building her lunch, she filled up a glass with water and plopped down at the table, sloshing the water slightly. Christine took a huge bite and sighed happily. When she remembered she wasn't alone, she looked up at the brothers who were staring at her. Dean, in an almost approving way, and Sam looked worried for her. "Sorry. Just haven't eaten in a while." This caused Sam's brow to furrow. "It's no big deal." She realized her mistake as his eyes hardened.

"You mean you didn't have enough money to eat?" He asked in a clipped tone.

"Well, not exactly, but-"

"You shouldn't have had to go through that." He said, eyes narrowing. "Where do you work?"

"Um, well…okay. Look. I'll be honest. I don't know why I'm spilling all my secrets to you two, but...I don't know, okay? So…I worked…as a bartender. Underage. I have a fake I.D." Christine admitted, taking another bite.

"Trust me, we couldn't care less about that. But you should have had enough to be able to eat. You don't seem the type to splurge on insane stuff."

She bit her lip and set the sandwich down, feeling their stares on her. "Matthew and I shared a bank account."

"And what did he do?" Dean asked, like he already knew the answer.

"He was the manager of a bank in town."

"You should have had plenty of money, then."

Christine's expression darkened and she sighed. "He had a drinking problem."

"Ding ding ding! We've got a winner!" Dean said sarcastically.

"Dude." Sam said, stopping him from making any further comments. "So, that bastard of a boyfriend uses you to get free drinks, and he gambles away the money."

She took a sip of water, fighting the irritating sting of tears. "Well, when you put it so bluntly."

"Sammy's got a gift for that." Dean said with a quick smile. Christine smiled back weakly and stood to put her plate up. She ran a hand through her hair and tried to erase that conversation from her mind. She paused and stretched her arms up with a yawn, completely oblivious to the staring of the two brothers at her legs.

"What's your last name, anyway?"

"Winchester."

"Little."

Sam and Dean said at the same time. Dean elbowed his brother in the ribs and he punched him back.

"What did I tell you about faking who you are?" Christine scolded like a mother. "So, Sam and Dean Winchester."

"Why is it always Sam and Dean? Why not Dean and Sam?"

"Shut up, it sounds better the first way." She told Dean. "Now." She rubbed her hands together and a wicked smile crossed her face. "Shopping."

So, much to Dean's reluctance, they piled into the Impala after Christine managed to change into her clothes from yesterday and make her wild curls look somewhat decent. The Winchester brothers discussed their plans for finding the faeries while she listened and stared at Sam's long hair which moved ever so slightly as he talked with animated gestures. She wondered how Dean kept the car from crashing, what with him glancing at his brother every five seconds. Christine suddenly felt the backseat next to her depress and she turned and squeaked a little bit. For in her seat to her left, Castiel was sitting silently in his trenchcoat. "Uh…hi." She managed. She watched as his impossibly blue eyes glanced in her direction.

"Hello."

His voice was deep and…innocent? That was a strange way of describing a voice, but hey, it was the truth. The angel continued to stare at the back of Dean's head with a fascination, his head cocked to the right. He looked adorable.

Christine realized that the duo had remained oblivious to the fact that he was there. They simply continued loudly discussing satanic rituals and such. She decided to keep quiet, wanting to see their faces when he got out of the car too.

She didn't have to wait long, for in a few minutes, they were parked in the parking lot of a large mall. She giggled quietly to herself as she got out of the car and burst into fits of hysterical laughter as she heard, "Shit! Castiel, warning, remember?" She walked around to Dean's side of the car to find him standing a few inches away from him, looking startled and also a bit happy. Sam looked just as frightened as Dean, and they both turned at the sound of her laughter. "You knew about this?" Dean asked, slightly offended.

"Heck yeah. Don't look so hurt- that was hilarious. Your face…oh man." She wiped a tear from her eye and clutched her middle.

They walked into the mall together, and Christine could practically feel the unheard music that played like they were in a movie. They walked like they were protecting her, with Dean and Sam on either side, and Cas on the other side of Dean. As they crossed the threshold, the cold air hit her dead on. Sam looked at the other two guys and announced, "I'll go with her. Get Cas another trench coat or something." And with that, he turned and Christine walked after him, almost running to catch up with his long strides.

"Hey, could you slow down?" She asked, tugging on his jacket sleeve. "Not all of us are six foot five." He slowed and gave her a crooked half smile. She noticed that he walked like he was tense, as if he expected to have to right to the death at any given moment. "Look, I know getting stuck with a girl shopping isn't exactly fun. But think of it as like…a vacation from wasting demons and such." She said brightly.

"Yeah, sure." He said, and she saw he was fighting back a grin.

She spotted Forever 21 and a devious smile crossed her face. She grabbed his arm and tugged him into the store. "Come on, plaid boy."

"Plaid boy?" He repeated indignantly as she pulled him into the mass of clothes.

"Yeah, you wear a lot of plaid."

"How could you know? You've known me for two days."

"Yeah, and if the four shirts I've seen are anything to go on, you're into plaid. Now, come on. I need someone to tell me which tops accent my boobs and whatnot." She said with a wink, missing the blush on his face. He wasn't used to girls like this. Girls who said whatever, like, without a filter. Just gave their opinions and left them out there without caring who saw them. He decided he was alright with it.

"What do you think about this?" Christine asked as she popped out of the dressing room a few minutes later. Sam glanced up from his phone to scrutinize the outfit and gave a nod.

"Uh, yeah. Whatever." He gave the pair of jeans and peach top she was wearing approval.

"Cool." She popped back in and emerged shortly after. "This?" Another top. He gave a double thumbs up and she beamed before stepping back into the dressing room while he sat on the chairs they had outside. This continued for a few minutes and Sam decided it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. That is, until a sales attendant who had been watching from afar came up to him.

"When your girlfriend comes back out, I have a dress that would look gorgeous on her!" She said, way too perkily.

"She's not my girlfriend." Sam corrected her.

"Sure, sweetheart." And she left with a wink.

A few minutes later she came back with some red dress in her hands. She tossed it over the door and he saw Christine's hand take it and thank her. Sam waited, wondering why she needed a dress, and was about to tell her it wasn't practical when they were busy murdering sons of bitches when she stepped out. And then he lost all coherent thought.

Christine was outfitted in a red cocktail dress. A very short cocktail dress. A very short, low, and fitted red cocktail dress. Which happened to fit her very well. "I figured, 'what the hell, we got the money, why not use it?'" She said, spinning around. Sam felt his throat go dry and he couldn't seem to make his mouth work. Christine didn't seem to notice her effect on him. She put her hands on her hips and said, "You look like a puppy."

"I…what?" He managed, tearing his eyes off of her and becoming very interested in a painting of the beach hanging on the wall.

"You look like a puppy. You're adorable." She said bluntly. Christine turned around and closed the door, changing and emerging in her regular clothes once more. She held a pile of garments and she walked to the register, where Sam paid for the stuff.

As they were walking out, Sam saw where she was walking. "Oh, no. No, I refuse to go in there." He looked panicked, as he looked at the store in front of him.

She turned around, confused, and then followed his line of sight to Victoria's Secret. She blushed red and said, "No, I wasn't going to…I mean, I wouldn't go in…no. No, I was not going there. Ah, let's go get a cookie or something." Christine walked briskly, briefly flustered.

Fifteen minutes later, cookie in hand, they started looking for Cas and Dean. "Ten bucks they're in the arcade." Sam said jokingly. They walked to BumperNets and, lo and behold, saw Dean attempting to teach Castiel to play pool. "Dean, let's go." He told his brother, who looked up at him and rolled his eyes.

"It's vacation time, Sam!"

"We need to go-" he was cut off by Christine's excited squeal.

"They have Pac-Man!" She looked at Sam pleadingly and he rolled is eyes and tossed her a few coins. She put them into the machine and she was now moving her joystick along happily. She was a few minutes into the game when an attendant came up. He was probably around twenty-five or so, with perfect teeth and wavy blonde hair. She paused and smiled at him before finishing her level. As she pressed 'Play Again' she noticed he was still there, leaning up against the side of the game. "Uh…hi." She said, eyeing him suspiciously. He grinned and replied,

"Hey. So, do you need anything?"

"Nope, I'm good." Christine said.

"Are you sure?" He asked, standing between her and the game. He was uncomfortably close to her and she backed up a bit.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Because I don't think you are." He grabbed her and slammed her against the game, still smiling. Then, his eyes flashed completely black.

"Sam!" She screamed. "Sam! Sam, help-"

He clamped a hand over her mouth and her eyes widened. "No no, I wouldn't do that. Now, Christine." His eyes turned back to normal, but his psycho-ness obviously hadn't, for he dug the edge of the game farther against her back until she tried to bite his hand. "Behave, little one. Just hold still. I don't play nice. I think I'll make this nice and slow." His grin turned even more insane as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. Christine struggled and she screamed into the hand as he brought it closer to her. He pressed the tip against the top of her arm and she tried to wrench her arm from her grip. No luck. He dug the tip of the knife into her skin and tears sprung to her eyes. He dragged it down in a vicious jerk, and he muffled her scream easily. "Whoops!" He said, still grinning. Warm blood ran down her right arm, and although she knew the cut wasn't enough to kill, it was bleeding heavily and extended from the top of her shoulder to the inside of her elbow, stopping just short of her vein. Christine had tears running down her face now. The guy took his knife and raised it to her cheek. She shut her eyes and fought against his iron grip, yet she stayed still. "You're not being very good." He slowly dragged the blade across her left cheek. It wasn't deep, but it was bleeding profusely, covering his hand and her face with her own blood.

The sound of a gunshot was heard, and her attacker suddenly dropped to the floor, disintegrating. She opened her eyes and found Dean, with a smoking gun, staring at her. She was breathing heavily. Sam stood next to Dean, and Cas was nowhere to be found. "Oh, thank god." She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Sam, tears now flowing freely down her face. Christine buried her head into his shirt and felt a hand in her hair. She calmed herself a bit and let go, backing up a bit.

"What, no hug?" Dean said, to lighten the mood a bit. He noticed Sam's expression and said, "Too soon?"

"Christine. What happened? What did he do?" Sam asked in a calming manner. She started shaking uncontrollably and could barely get a word in past her frantic sobs.

"He knew my name and his eyes were black and he cut my arm and my face and oh my god." Christine fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, clutching her arm. The brothers were instantly by her side. Sam offered her a hand, and she reached up to take it before passing out from loss of blood.

"Dammit!" Dean hissed, already taking off his jacket to wrap around her arm.

"We need Bobby." Sam said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He eyed her unconscious form and the pool of blood that surrounded her. "How far of a drive?" He asked as he dialed the number.

"A few hours or so." Dean said gruffly as he pressed the fabric against her arm, pulling her up and supporting her slight frame easily. They headed for the back door, banging out into the bright light. "Hey, Cas, could use some help here." He said to the air. Cas appeared instantly and took in the sight. His gaze swept over her form and he frowned a bit. "What can you tell us?"

He placed a hand on her upper arm, right where the slice started, and dragged his fingers in a line down the cut. They watched as it healed, a faint scar in its place. "Thank-" Sam couldn't finish, for the wound opened back up again, blood dripping out thick and fast as before. Cas furrowed his eyebrows and cocked his head.

"I don't understand." He said. "That should have rid her of the wound." Then, his eyes darkened considerably.

"Cas? What is it, what's wrong?" Dean demanded, green eyes analyzing the planes of the angel's face.

"This is not good."

"What's not good? Cas, dammit, talk to me!"

He met his eyes and licked his lips. "There is something countering my powers." He somewhat-explained. Dean dragged his gaze from Cas's mouth to his blue eyes.

"So this is some sort of voodoo counter-curse type stuff?" Sam asked worringly.

"It would appear so." Cas agreed in his deep voice of his. Then, without any warning, he placed his hands on them, and they disappeared from behind the mall. The world turned upside down and when the brothers opened their eyes they immediately recognized the place as Bobby's. Sam sighed with relief and thanked Cas, while Dean was grumbling something about not being able to poop for a week. Then, he realized something.

"Cas, where's Christine?" Sam asked, a crease in his brow. Castiel pointed a finger in the direction of the Impala which he had somehow managed to poof there too. Sam ran to the car and threw the door open, taking the sleeping girl in his arms. Luckily, she was very light, and her frame was nothing. Dean rapped a knuckle on the door and it was opened by Bobby. The man took a look at them and rolled his eyes, motioning for them to come inside.

"What'd ya do this time?" He asked, looking at Christine who was still bleeding.

"I'll explain later. Could you like…make her not die or something?" Sam asked. Bobby sighed and Sam placed her down on an old mattress. He looked down at his shirt and found it soaked in her blood. He brought a hand to his hair and ran it through, a nervous habit now. He looked on as the man checked her vitals while holding a needle and thread in another.

"She'll live. Just lost a hell of a lot of blood. Thank the lord she's asleep. This would have smarted more than a little had she been awake." He proceeded to thread the needle and make careful stitches along the length of her arm. "Now, explain to me how you got this pretty girl sliced and diced."

Sam pulled a chair over to the bed, sat in it, and explained their short tale to him. Bobby nodded and made occasional comments, but other than that, he didn't say anything. It was unnerving. "So…no scolding? No 'what were you thinking dragging her into this'?" He asked incredulously. The man sighed again and sat in a chair of his own.

"Christine's got a history with hunters." He said.

"Wait." Sam stopped him. "I never told you her name."

"I know that, you idjit. I knew her daddy."

"Knew? As in, past tense?"

"He was a hunter too, Sam. Your father was real good friends with him, actually." Sam 's mouth was opened slightly in disbelief. "Strangely enough, with all that danger he was in, that wasn't what killed him." He paused, like he was now walking on thin ice. "He took his own life."

Sam blinked and sat back, a little aghast. "Did he happen to slit his throat?"

"Yeah. How'd you- oh." Bobby said in realization. "That guy in the papers-her boyfriend, right? You think they're connected somehow?"

Sam nodded and told him about the weird letters scratched into various surfaces, neglecting to mention the past accident in the hotel. When Bobby left to get a beer, Sam took the time to really study Christine.

She was pretty, a real beautiful girl, really. Her ever-changing eyes were closed, delicate lashes surrounding her eyelids. She was pretty, in the exact opposite of society. She was no tall, tanned, blonde beauty. She was short, pale, and had chestnut, curly hair. Which happened to frame her heart-shaped face perfectly. She had prominent cheekbones, and he finally attributed how thin she was to the fact that she never had enough to eat. Figures. Even so, she had nice curves, even if he could practically see her ribs through her thin shirt.

Bobby came in and handed Sam a drink. "I've got nothing about whatever killed the two guys. But as for her, she'll be a bit…disoriented. Confused. She doesn't know who I am, so it's best if you or Dean waits until she wakes up so she won't try to throttle me."

"How long do you think the stitches will take to heal?"

"Well, that's the bad news. She'll have them for around a month or so."

"Fantastic." Sam muttered sarcastically.

"Allons-y." The soft voice made him jump and he turned to see Christine, struggling to sit up on the mattress. He wrapped an arm around her to assist her, and she hesitated before accepting gratefully. He looked at her hair, which was now tangled and her eyes were milky from sleep. She blinked and raised her injured arm to her hair, only to wince and drop it down quickly. She sucked in a breath and examined it, testing the limits of the pain. She studied the hasty stitches, criss-crossing messily over her wound. Then, she noticed that Sam was staring at her with a raised eyebrow. "It's…uh…Doctor Who stuff. Cause the ninth doctor's catchphrase is 'fantastic', and the tenth doctor's is Allons-y…" She trailed off, getting caught in her fantasies of Time Lords from Gallifrey. "Just…forget everything I just said."

"Alriiiiiight…" Sam dragged out the word. "Your stitches will heal in about a month." He informed her. She just shrugged.

"Maybe if I try I'll heal faster."

"Yeah. You do that. You're on bed rest for two days. Then, you can move around. Just taking necessary precautions." And, while he said this, he was oblivious to the fact that the stitches dissolved into her skin and was slowly closing itself up. Soon, all that was left was a jagged white scar.

"Nah, I think I'm good." She swung her legs around and Sam threw out an arm to stop her.

"Woah, you can't just-"

Christine lifted up her arm, and his eyebrows knitted before rising and he clenched his jaw. "I'm good."

"How did you…? He trailed off feebly, tracing a finger down the healed cut. He didn't notice the way that goosebumps rose on her flesh and she shivered, though not from cold.

"Always been able to. I don't know. Just another weird thing, I guess." She hopped down and walked out of the room, realizing that she was in warm pajamas that she had bought at the store.

Which she hadn't been wearing before she passed out.

"Sam?"

"Yes?"

"How'd I get into these clothes?" She paused in the doorway and crossed her arms, an amused look crossing her face when she saw he was flustered.

"I…uh…you see, you were cold, and you had…lost a lot of blood." He finished awkwardly. Christine shrugged and went about, with the intent of exploring the unfamiliar house she was in, when she ran smack into an older man. She hopped back, immediately on the offense, until he said,

"Did Sam not tell you to stay in bed?" He asked, rolling his eyes and opening his mouth in preparation of yelling his name when she simply held up her arm. "Oh."

"Is this your house?" She asked, craning her neck to look around him and she spotted the kitchen. Her stomach immediately growled and she flushed in embarrassment before padding along the hallway, leaving a very confused Bobby in her wake.

Christine walked into the kitchen and saw Castiel and Dean staring rather intensely at each other. She cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow, noting how Dean immediately jumped back a few inches and continued eating his sandwich with a vengeance. "Did I interrupt something?"

"No!" The elder Winchester said a little too quickly. Castiel just looked confused. Which was adorable on him, she noticed, in his huge swamping trenchcoat and puppy blue eyes. "Wait, aren't you supposed to be in bed?" he asked, changing the subject. Christine rolled her eyes and lifted her arm up in the two lines of sight. Dean looked taken aback, and Cas squinted, studying the crooked white scar. He walked abruptly to her side, lifting her arm up curiously. Fighting her impulse to flinch, the touch bringing unwelcome memories, she struggled to stay still. She felt his gaze bore into her own.

"You are scared of me." Cas stated. Christine shook her head vigorously.

"Not you, Cas. Something else."

"But I reminded you of it."

"Well, yeah." She nodded. She was relieved when he didn't ask what, for she wouldn't have said it. He probably knew, anyway. Angel and all that jazz. Christine grabbed the sandwich off of Dean's plate and promptly took a huge bite.

"Hey!" He protested, swiping at her to get his food back. She held it tightly, though, taking another bite and chewing loudly to rub it in his face. "That was my favorite sandwich!"

"Buy yourself a burger or something!"

At that second, Sam walked in, his huge frame looming over everyone in the room. "Hey, Sammy!" Christine said, not even thinking twice about the nickname. Her grin disappeared when Dean said,

"He, uh, doesn't like to be called that. Only I can-"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Christine apologized.

"No. It's okay." Sam said, flashing her a quick smile.

"Are you sure? Because I don't want to call you that if it's your brother's nickname for you."

"It's fine, I swear." He assured, noticing how her face seemed to brighten considerably.

"Fantastic." She ruffled her own hair and yawned. "How long was I asleep?"

"A day." Dean answered, angrily fixing another sandwich.

While everyone accepted this, Sam spoke up. "Wasn't that how long she was out last time, too?"

"Yeah. Why, you think I'm 'possessed' or something?" Christine asked playfully. She immediately grew serious as Dean shot her a look. "Okay, no demon talk at the table. My bad."

"Are we just gonna ignore how she healed a gash in her arm in a thirtieth of the time it should have healed?" Bobby asked as he too found his way into the kitchen. "You're not normal, are you, Christine?"

She knit her eyebrows and fear flashed through her eyes for a split second, but the only one who caught it was Castiel. She straightened and crossed her arms, eyeing the older man curiously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"She has powers." Sam blurted out. All eyes came to a rest on him. "Like me."

"She's a psychic?" Bobby asked incredulously.

"Yes. No. I mean, I don't know." The younger brother said, shaking his head and looking at Christine expectantly. She just uncrossed her arms and brought a hand absentmindedly to her hair, running her fingers through the dark strands.

"Yes. I've had…visions." She shuddered as the memories came, unbidden, back to her.

Suddenly, her eyes dilated in terror and her mind was flipped. She didn't see Sam, Dean, and Bobby anymore. She saw her three insane attackers from that fateful night two years ago. Her brain was struggling to switch back to normal, and she immediately felt herself slipping into paranoia. She started screaming and backing up, her back slamming against the wall. She sunk down and raised her hands over her head. "No! Don't touch me!" She sobbed and huddled more into a ball, pressing her knees to her forehead and scrambling to push her body farther up against the wall. "Don't come near me! I HATE YOU!" She screamed again, tears rolling thick and fast down her face. She couldn't come to terms with reality and when Dean approached her hesitantly, she lost it. Christine jumped up and pressed her arms into the wall, waiting for the torture to begin, to feel her own blood running down her face, the slaps, the hits.

Meanwhile, while Christine was trapped in her own consciousness, Sam was yelling at her to snap out of it. "Christine! Christine, It's me! Sammy! Christine, come on, that's not you! We're not…them, or whoever you're afraid of!" He was growing desperate and his eyes widened as she hopped up, still sobbing, and reached for a kitchen knife that had been laying on the counter from Dean cutting the sandwich. The point was sharp and wicked-looking and aimed at her own chest. "Christine! Stop!" He pushed past the others and grabbed her wrist, but for a sobbing teenage girl having a breakdown, she was insanely strong. She was still crying, breaths shaky, as she struggled to bring the knife closer to her. "Christine!" Sam tried yelling again, his voice growing hoarse. No luck.

"Will you please shut up so I can save her?"

Cas's voice made them all jump. He walked towards the screaming girl and knelt down while Sam still had his hands wrapped around her wrist. "She's inside one of her own memories." He stated, looking into her empty eyes. "She doesn't know who we are right now. She won't listen to reason, either." Cas closed his eyes and pressed a palm to her forehead. All around Christine, a strange, glistening blue light erupted. Her shaking stopped, and she snapped out of it. She looked up, confused, at the four people standing above her with bewildered expressions on her face, and she instantly knew what happened.

"I've got some explaining to do, haven't I." She said sadly, noticing that she had been crying. Then, she noticed Sam gripping her wrist like it was a lifeline, and she saw the knife she held. She gasped and searched Sam for injury, eyes scanning over his form. "Was I going to hurt you?" She asked.

"No." He took a breath and grabbed her hand, pulling her from the tile floor. "You were going to hurt yourself."

Understanding flashed in her eyes. "That evil bitch." She spat. The others looked confused, and rightfully so. She led everyone to the living room, where stacks and stacks of assorted papers, books, and maps littered every available space. Christine cleared the dusty sofa and plopped down on one end, Sam on the other as usual. She observed how Dean swallowed and averted his eyes as Cas stretched his arms above his head before sitting crosslegged on the floor. Dean was standing, with Bobby taking a seat at the desk. "I guess you're waiting for me to explain myself, then." She said, watching their faces. Dean looked mildly interested, Sam looked concerned, Cas looked…well, like Cas, and Bobby's face was blank. "So…I lied." She said bluntly. "There are things about me that no one knows. Things no one will ever know. Things I will sure as hell not tell you." She paused, taking a breath before saying the words that shocked everyone. "I am Christine Daae, and I am twelve hundred years old. I've seen enough blood to last a lifetime. Far too much. I'm immortal, Sam." She couldn't really tell why she had referred to him in her last statement, but she did anyway. "I'm not a creature. I cannot be hunted. I'm not from heaven. I'm not from hell. I'm from somewhere else."

"Where?" Dean asks, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I," Christine took a breath before answering shakily, "am from the In-between."

"Purgatory?" Sam asked.

She shook her head. "No. It's called the In-Between because it's literally in between worlds. Not living and dead. Oh, no. It's much more complicated than that."


End file.
